A Scream of Ice and Hellfire
by AjaxByTheSea
Summary: Grommash Hellscream redeemed himself with the ultimate sacrifice, freeing not only himself but also his people from the corruption of the Buring Legion. However, the demon pit lord, Mannoroth, is not one to accept defeat so easily, casting Grommash's soul away from Azeroth and sending him to a new world. His long journey is only beginning...
1. Chapter 1

**Fire and Chains**

Burning.

Pain.

His whole body burned. Even after the fire was extinguished he could feel his skin and flesh smoldering. A constant pain that made him want to howl. But the burning in his veins was fading. The ever present burning in his blood that only his iron willpower prevented from igniting cooled. Only this allowed him to ignore the burning of his body.

 _Redemption. I am redeemed, Thrall. I have freed myself._

Those were his last thoughts when his eyes closed for the last time. His spirit faded from his broken body. He was only somewhat surprised to be conscious, when he knew that he had just died. _This must be when I stand before my ancestors,_ he thought preparing himself for judgement. _I can only hope my past actions are forgiven so that I may look them in the eye._

"Oh, you can never be forgiven."

The deep rumbling voice was unmistakable. It was the voice of the demon he had just defeated, whose fiery death had ended his own. He tried to growl back a response, but he could only see darkness and could not feel his body. In fact, he felt as if he was floating in an endless expanse. However much it angered him, he had no physical body so he could not do anything but listen. The rumbling voice reverberated into his very essence, "You may have defeated me, but know that I will never let you go, my greatest son."

 _I am not your son. I am free,_ he thought in anger.

The demon's voice sounded amused. "Truly you are my greatest achievement. But so treacherous. So very treacherous. I gave you the gift of my blood to let you slay all those who stood before you. Even a god. And how do you repay me?" The rumbling had turned quickly from amusement to a roaring anger. "With death!"

After a brief pause of silence the rumbling continued. "No matter. I commend your ability. You, my greatest creation have even managed to slay your great master. But you still have my blood in your veins. I can feel it. Even as it fades, I still have power over you."

 _No._ He could not help the fear that sunk into that denial. His spirit was free. He had freed himself from the demon's control.

"So, with the power that I have left and what little corruption still flows within you. I curse you. You shall not join your people in death. I curse you to fight. I curse you to once again struggle." Even as the demon spoke, he could feel his spirit floating. He could somehow feel his being dispersing from the realm that he knew. If he could struggle he would have. He would have fought with all his might if he could, because a clan chief does not ever give up.

"I want you to know this. Every time there is pain. Every time there is anger. Every time there is despair. I am the one that has brought these to you. Know that I, Mannoroth, have cursed you again. You will never be free and I am the one who has chained you for all eternity. Know this my mighty son." Then the laughter began. The deep rumbling laugh from the pits of hell that he hated so much. As his spirit slowly lost its connection to the realm that he knew, he could only hear the cackling of the demon and once again feel the burning of his body.

* * *

Burning.

Pain?

His eyes were shut. He dared not dare open them to see what realm the demon had decided to torture him in. No, there was no pain. The burning felt like the sun on a hot cloudless day. He could feel a cool breeze brush his hair against his chin. The breeze felt good. He exhaled slowly. He hadn't felt this good in many years. The demon's presence in his mind and body that had burdened for most of the last years of his life was gone. He inhaled deeply, smelling the clean air heavy with the scent of grass. _Strange. I expected hellfire to await me_. He opened his eyes.

Endless plains of golden grass greeted his vision. It almost remined him of Draenor, before the presence of the Burning Legion. He extended his hand to feel the golden stalks brushing against his waist. He nearly yelled out in shock. His hand. It was tan. A human tan on human skin. Raising both of his hands out in front of himself he saw that his green skin was replaced with the tanned skin of a human. No. His whole body had been replaced.

Looking down at himself, he saw that he now had the form of the enemy of his people. Taking slow breaths to calm himself, he investigated his own body with curious pokes. He was pleased to note that he still had his musculature and it appeared his proportions were similar to his orc self, if it were converted to that of human's. However, he had no reference for how large or how small he actually was, considering that he could only compare his body to the tall grass that seemed to stretch out in an endless sea in all directions. In addition, his body was still littered with scars from his orc body, but not the burns from the demon's fire. This pleased him even more, as he was proud of the physical reminders of his triumphs in combat and glad that not one trace of the demon remained on him.

After his examinations, he peered out into the horizon, raising a hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun. He could see mountains far off in one direction. Grunting to himself in affirmation he decided to head in the direction of higher ground, taking off at a brisk jog. He needed to find food, shelter, water, and most of all find out where the demon had sent him.

Days passed slowly in the shadow of the mountain. But that gave him enough time to establish himself in his new home. He had created a small hidden settlement for himself at the base of several boulders that had crumbled from high above long ago. The stone provided him a means to fashion himself a large hammer from tying grass to the end of a sundried stick. Although it was not very effective and prone to breaking, he used it to kill a lion which roamed the same mountain that he now dwelled. It thought itself the alpha predator, but he taught the beast a valuable lesson. A lesson that ended with him wearing its pelt across his body, its claws as a necklace, and its large canines woven into his long hair that hung to the middle of his lower back.

He had never thought to find peace on this world. Mannoroth's words had convinced him that he would suffer for eternity. During the day he worked to survive, but it was the good kind of work, and at night he gazed out into the stars until he fell asleep trying to find which one was his home world. Old Draenor was long gone, but this world was almost as good. The only things missing were the battles and fights. His body was restless for action and the adrenaline of a good duel.

The thirtieth morning found him laying prone within his woven grass hut gazing out at a large dust cloud out in the sea of grass. He had seen movement like this before back on his home world and in his campaigns in Azeroth. It was a vast swarm of humans. He could see them riding on horseback, sitting in carts, or walking. They were but small figures far in the distance, but he could not mistake the scent, voices, or figures of his long time enemies. But now that he was one, he was torn. He did not know how to fit into human society. Should he approach them? Or should he stay in his own sanctuary? If he approached he did not know how they would react to a stranger, but he knew that humans like orcs had a better chance of survival in groups. If he stayed hidden, he would eventually have to move anyway due to a lack of resources. But the most important thing was the answer to the question that had been haunting since his arrival in this new world of whether he could return to Azeroth. Perhaps he could find a way back to the Horde. After all, he still had much to do to if he were to fully redeem himself to his people. He made up his mind and stalked towards the great swarm.

He approached slowly, his path making a large arc so that he would eventually reach the back of the swarm by avoiding the main body of the caravan. He noticed that the females, children, and older humans were located there. His plan was to capture one to interrogate it for information, so he decided to hunt for the weak. There was no point in becoming injured in a reconnaissance mission.

Crouching in the tall grass he listened. The muffled sound of discussion too quiet to make out indicated the older ones were deeper in the crowds of humans. Louder laughter and yelling came from nearby. The children were carefree and unsuspecting. He could grab one and be off with it before anyone noticed. He saw one younger male and one female playing some sort of game, unaware of his approaching presence. As he was about to strike, they spoke quickly to each other, laughing, and he almost slapped himself in his own stupidity. The words they spoke were unintelligible to him. Of course, even though he looked human, that did not mean he could understand them. Even among the Alliance, there were several human languages. As his two unsuspecting prey went out of ear shot, he groaned to himself. _How could I have forgotten something so simple?_ Formulating a new plan, he decided to follow the swarm of humans sticking closer to the back where the weaker humans stayed. He needed to learn about his intended targets first before making any rash decisions. _Yes. I will learn from the humans just like Thrall did. He did mention that the old taught the young just like us orcs. I will learn their language and culture to see if they are truly worthy of the presence of a chief such as myself._

* * *

Many of his fellow orcs thought him only a bloodthirsty warrior. While that was true in part, he was also a highly intelligent chief of the Warsong clan. So, he learned the language of what he now knew of as the Dothraki people much more quickly than one would expect from someone of his appearance. The Khalasar, what these people called their swarm, moved slowly due to the large number of people. This allowed him to easily follow while still hunting the small game that lived in the tall grasses. He tried to watch the young ones, as they were much more likely to be taught by the females and elders. Even with all his skills at stealth, children's eyes were sharp and they were curious. He had too many close encounters to count, considering that he made great efforts to avoid the obvious warriors of the of Khalasar that rode on horseback. Although, he wanted to show these humans the power of an orc, he knew that he was at a severe disadvantage not knowing anything about the world that he arrived on.

It became even more difficult to learn once he had progressed from the younglings' education. He tailed the elders and females as they provided more information than children could offer him, but they tended to travel in groups and didn't stray too far from the Khalasar. Today though, he felt that his ancestors were providing him with a change in fortune. One of the younger females was straying far from the Khalasar to pick small flowers that grew on select grasses amongst the many types he had learned of in this land. Now was his chance. He felt that he had learned enough to directly question one of the members of the Khalasar. The female was young, but older than a child that needed to be taught the ways of their people. _She will provide me the information I need_. Even though he had learned much about the Dothraki people, such as the fact that they too were nomadic tribes much like the old orcs of Draenor, he needed to know how they treated their slaves and strangers who were not already part of the large caravan. He needed much more information before he could offer his services. It was surprising, but he found the ways of the humans, the Dothraki, to be strangely comforting. They reminded him of the good days on Draenor, which was why his decision was leaning towards joining these people, no matter how much it rankled his orcish pride.

The girl was nervous as she plucked the flowers off the grasses. She was tan like everyone else in the Khalasar and wore the hides of animals that they killed in the plains. Her nervousness was uncharacteristic, thought Grom. It was much more obvious than usual, most likely from straying so far, as she kept glancing back towards the caravan. _Most likely she is afraid of being left behind_. _Unfortunate that I am to fulfill her fear._ Quick as lightning, he reached out and grabbed the girl's furs twisting her around so that her back was pressed against his chest and covering her mouth so that her screams were muffled.

"Quiet." He commanded in a whisper. "Or I will be forced to kill you."

The girl immediately stopped screaming, but she trembled against him and tears were streaming down her face, wetting his large hands. She had every right to be scared. He allowed himself a small grin. It was good to know for sure just how large he actually was, his human body was the same size as his orc body. The girl's feet kicked against his knees as he held her tight against him to prevent her from struggling. He warily eyed his surroundings as he whispered into her ear.

"I have some questions for you and if I am happy with your responses I will let you go unharmed."

He felt a nod, which made him look down. The girl's eyes were full of fear, but also surprise. It seemed she did not expect him to be able to speak to her. Good. That meant that he had learned the language well enough to be understood. Before he could ask her any questions the sound of thundering hooves filled his ears. Riders with their curved blades poured out from where the girl had been looking before her capture. _They tricked me. She was the bait!_ He growled in frustration and anger, throwing the girl down into the grass and turning to run. More riders approached from further out of the plains shouting their battle cries. _Curse you Mannoroth!_ It seemed the demon had made good on his promise. His life was going to be full of suffering and struggling again.

It was too late to join peacefully now that he had been caught abducting one of their people. He knew it was it was going to be impossible to outrun the riders as well. He had to avoid their whips and nets for long enough to grab one of their horses. He continued sprinting away from the caravan to gain some distance from the larger group of riders. Pulling his necklace from his neck, he held the lion's claws in his hands like daggers. The first of the riders reached him quickly screaming in joy, cracking a long whip. He leaped over the long weapon and stabbed the claw straight into the chest of the rider. He cursed as the horse continued running. Pulling his dagger out of man he just killed without pausing to look at the shocked face, he tried to mount the horse. It was still slowing down, but there were no reigns to help him up. The crack of another whip and his left arm was wrenched backwards. Another rider had caught up and was laughing and screaming at him while trying to reel him in. He inhaled deeply before giving his famous roar. A roar so loud and terrifying that it gave credence to his name. The horses panicked which allowed him to stop the pull of the whip. He grabbed the offending weapon with his left hand wrenching it closer so that he could also grip it with his right hand. With a heave he pulled the rider off his mount. The dismounted man let go of the whip when he realized that he was no match in a contest of strength. Yelling in response, the man pulled out his curved blade. It gleamed in the sun turning almost gold as it reflected the tall grasses waving in the breeze. Unwinding the whip from his bleeding left arm, he charged the man who tried to slash at him, but he was too quick, sidestepping and snapping the wrist of the man. Before the man could scream in too much pain, his neck was also snapped in a quick twisting motion. _These humans are pathetic._

Another crack of a whip and he was pulled away from the horse by his ankle. Two more whips found their marks encircling his other leg and his right arm, before a net entangled him. Even then he struggled, managing to pull two more riders off their mounts, before others helped them pull the whips taut to restrain him. _Perhaps I spoke too soon,_ Grom admitted. Once the commotion died down, several riders approached. One he recognized as the Khal, the leader of the Khalasar. One of the others he did not recognize, but the man stood out. He was not dressed as a member of the Dothraki, as he was wearing silken robes and had jewels hanging from his neck and wrists. He also had obvious guards in chain mail and leathers riding with him. What he didn't like was the way the strangely dressed man eyed him like a piece of meat for sale.

After the silk clad man made a strange gesture, a guard approached carrying a slave girl on his mount. He spoke something not in the Dothraki language. _Ah a translator._ His assumption was proven correct when the slave girl spoke in the high pitched voice of adolescence.

"My master introduces himself to the unworthy as Uzamon zo Horan, as he is impressed by the unworthy's fighting skill."

From under his restraints on the ground he only growled in response. The Khal only laughed, prompting his other riders to laugh well.

Gold laden arms gestured at him as a smile encrusted with gems spoke in that flowery language, so different than the guttural Dothraki that he was used to. So weak sounding.

"My esteemed master wishes to save the unworthy from his fate at the hands of the Khal. My master will allow the unworthy to serve under him as a slave."

He only growled in response while staring in hatred at the smiling weakling. The Khal seemed to have enough of him as he pulled out his curved blade. The supposed master shouted in alarm, causing an argument to break out. The words were too fast for him to understand. Before he could make use of the distraction, leathered guards dragged two chests from the caravan and laid them out in the grass, which seemed to appease the Khal. As the argument died down, he heard the slave girl say, "My master promises you more when we return to Mereen."

The Khal nodded and shouted at his riders. Ten different curved blades were at their prisoner's throat as they tied up his arms and legs and then forced him into a kneeling position. The Khal reached down grasping the orc turned man's long hair, cutting close to the base of his neck. "You are undeserving of this," the Khal taunted, throwing the black strands into the grass. Before he could respond, the shadow of the slave master draped over his tied form as he gave spoke more to the slave girl than to him.

"The great master has purchased you from the Khal saving your unworthy life. He asks for the unworthy's name."

No response. Only the rustling of the dry grass and the low chuckles of the riders could be heard. The slave master looked annoyed.

"My esteemed master knows from the Dothraki girl that the unworthy can speak. My master wishes to know the name even if it is in this language."

He did not respond. Instead glaring in hatred at the slave master. The slave master gave an angry command and the whips fell. He made sure not to make a noise, but he grimaced in pain as whips cracked over and over again against his tied form. _The weakling doesn't even strike me himself._ The slave master was red with anger taking his frustration out on the slave girl who cried in pain as he struck her. Even though he was tied down, seeing a slave being treated so unfairly caused him to roar in anger. He realized his mistake, once he saw the jeweled smile. Pulling the slave girl into his own seat, the slave master pulled a golden knife from his silken robes and held it against the slave girl's neck. He whispered into her ear like a snake.

The slave girl spoke in a bored tone that was at odds with her scared expression. "My master will honor my unworthy body with torture if this unworthy slave does not name himself." The Khal laughed at the phrasing and stroked the slave girl's cheek roughly as he looked at her appreciatively. _This one likes his mates submissive and weak._ _He is unworthy of his title. There is no glory to be earned in slaying such a foe._

The slave girl shivered in fear as the knife nicked her neck, but she continued translating. "My master gives one more chance."

From the ground, his body bleeding, he saw the fear in the slave girls eyes, the cruel smile of the Khal and the curve of the jeweled mouth near the slave girls ear. The golden knife dripped with droplets of blood. At this point there was nothing to be gained here, but meaningless pain and death. He sighed in defeat, but straightened his body upright as much as he could, proudly stating, "I am Grom Hellscream of the Warsong clan."

The Khal didn't seem to recognize the phrasings but he lost his smile when he heard the name Hellscream. The Khal whispered it to himself, causing his riders to stir and look at each other with hidden apprehension. Oblivious to the Dothraki's uneasiness, the slave master's smile only grew wider as he pushed the slave girl roughly into the arms of his guards. The slave master giddily spoke in a heavy accent rolling the name in his mouth like the most delicious wine, "Grom Hellscream."


	2. Chapter 2

**Shackles and Keys**

Sunlight streamed through the slit of a window, encased in colorful bricks, and into the luxurious room. Silk cloths streamed from banner to banner allowing the light to pass through them, throwing pinks, yellows, and purples across the walls. One ornately decorated bed was occupied by the large body of Grom Hellscream. His muscular body was crisscrossed with the streams of color that did nothing to hide the scars that littered his frame. Grom slowly sat up rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Risana, noticed his movement and quietly slipped from the foot of his bed to creep to the heavy locked door across the room. She gave a knock and whispered to the guards outside.

Grom shook his head in disgust. Risana wore little to cover her undeveloped body, but such was the attire of a pleasure slave. She had been gifted to him by Uzamon zo Horan thinking that Grom had been stalking the children of the Dothraki due to a sexual desire. Such a belief was unimaginable to Grom as younglings were to be nurtured to lead the next generation, but apparently in this world some had a predilection for children. Grom had made sure to rid Uzamon of that assumption by insulting him loudly for all to hear and then trying to beat it into his skull when the master got too close. He received extra lashings that night.

However, Uzamon did not take the young human girl away. Every night Risana tried to please him, starting by straddling his stomach but before anything could happen, Grom would push her to the side, roughly enough so that she was deterred, but gently enough so that she was not injured. After all, Grom did not kill children without reason. He had hoped his obvious disinterest in the slave girl would make Uzamon remove her from his lavish prison, but Uzamon left her to him for his own amusement. Uzamon would always smile in amusement when he saw Risana curled up at the foot of his bed. _His smiles are always false, so it's hard to tell what he really thinks…_

The heavy door opened with a clanging of keys. His breakfast was brought in by heavily armed soldiers, but today was different. It appeared the master himself was ready to make an appearance within his cell. "Grom Hellscream. I have lavished you in gifts and luxury. I have gifted you a pet of your own." Uzamon smiled glancing towards Risana, who was eating her own breakfast. Grom growled under his breath in annoyance. "You have everything and more that a slave could ever want. So, so now it is time for you to fight for me as we discussed."

Risana had taken to teaching Grom the languages of the masters, but Grom preferred answering in Dothraki to both annoy Uzamon and to avoid using what he saw as a weak language. He had a decent grasp of the language, but his lapses in understanding were remedied with Risana translating whenever he glanced her way. Grom stood and spat out his response, "I shall not fight for a human that cannot even fight for himself."

Uzamon zo Horan's jeweled smile became strained. "You still dare speak in that barbaric language?" Risana glanced in fear at the master.

"Even with these chains keeping me here, I am not your slave." Grom smirked, not bothering to switch to the flowery language used in Meereen.

The slave master lost all signs of mirth, false or otherwise. He made a quick gesture and turned his back on Grom. "We shall see." As the silken robes of Uzamon disappeared through the door, two guards grabbed Risana pulling her to her feet and dragging her out the door. She put up no resistance, but she gave Grom a fearful glance before she too disappeared from sight.

Countless guards poured into the cell diving upon Grom to tie him up. Even though his legs were chained he put up a valiant struggle, managing to knock out at least four of the less experienced guards before being overwhelmed. The guards dared not harm him permanently as they dragged him deeper into the lavish property of the Horan household for fear of their master, but they made no effort in keeping him from getting bruises or cuts.

The guards dragged him into an open garden outside of the slave housing. The garden had obvious signs of tending, but it seemed it was still falling into disarray. Two guards chained his arms to an old sundried crossbar, while another two chained his legs to the post. When the leather clad guards stepped aside to examine their handiwork, Grom himself put their work to the test. The chains rattled when he tried pulling his arms away, scaring the guards, but they didn't add anymore restraints seeing that Grom could not move his arms or legs at all. They gained confidence in his immobility, taunting him and poking him with their spears. Grom did not give them the satisfaction of a sound.

By the time the guards were bored of their games and retreated into the shade of the garden trees, the sun was already high in the sky, beating its rays down onto all those who stayed in the open. Grom was about to pass out in the oppressive heat, when the slave master made his appearance. Uzamon wore a robe of shockingly bright orange and stood under the shade of a turquoise umbrella held by an older darker skinned man. Clearly, Uzamon wanted to flaunt his comfort compared to that of Grom's. One hand covered in jewels stroked Grom's arms as if measuring the quality of the meat, causing Grom to jerk back a bit in disgust. This brought out the gem filled smile that Grom hated ever since he first laid eyes on it.

"You are fortunate that I see potential in your undeserving life. Fight for me and your life may return to what I have allowed you to experience. I give you one more chance to fight on your own accord. Don't force me to break your spirit and body." Uzamon oozed confidence. False confidence, thought Grom. In front of the might of Hellscream, no human stood a chance.

"You are fortunate that I am restrained, or your body would be the one that is broken." Grom replied calmly.

Uzamon reached for the juiciest fruit on the platter that arrived from one of the scurrying slaves. Taking a large bite, he made a show of how much he enjoyed the tasty morsel. "You have no place to talk slave. I am always apprehensive of damaging property, but something already broken must be fixed, so I leave you under the tender care of Captain Herza." A slender man with brightly dyed hair stepped forward. He had a hooked nose that cast a deep shadow across his face reminding Grom of the large windrocs that inhabited Nagrand. What drew Grom's attention was the man's stoic face and sly eyes. _I will not underestimate this one._ "Captain Herza will administer the punishments, but I will let little Risana make sure you do not perish. We all know how much you love her." Grom growled, baring his teeth, but Uzamon had already turned his back, most likely to retire to his private chambers, where the air was much cooler. Already, Grom was feeling a great thirst and hunger. The bright sun over Meereen was his greatest enemy right now.

Captain Herza ordered two men with long knives to stand at the ready next to Grom's arms. He slowly paced back forth across the open garden as he spoke, "The master has ordered me not to damage you too much so that he can still use you. Do not think that means I will take it easy on you. This just means we will have to be more creative." Looking at the two guards next to Grom, Captain Herza nodded.

Sharp pain erupted from Grom's arms. The two guards were drawing thin lines across his flesh with sharp knives. It seemed he was correct in not underestimating the Captain. Each time Grom started to get a slight respite due to the pain dulling, the Captain ordered the men to switch to another part of his body, making sure that the pain was fresh. What was worse was his sweat pouring down his baking body salting his open wounds. Grom grimaced in pain, staring at the pacing Captain, whose eyes never left Grom's chained form. Watching the pacing made the ordeal seem endless, the continuous steps trying to put his mind to sleep, but the sharp pains forcing him into a state of constant awareness. By the time the burning sun had dropped below the large pyramids of Meereen, Grom's body was dripping in blood and he felt dizzy. _I've lost a lot of blood and I have no water or food. At least it is only my body that is in pain._ Grom recalled his time hiding in human lands during their fruitless invasion, when he had to deal with symptoms of physical withdrawal and a constant mental war. _This is nothing compared to the corruption of that demon_.

"Risana!" Captain Herza's sharp command snapped Grom out of his musings. He saw the little girl run from wherever she was hiding. _Was she watching this whole time?_ "Treat his wounds. Make sure there is no infection. Give him only the water in the bowl and no more." Risana nodded and brought a tray of bandages, clean clothes, and a bowl of water. She began cleaning his wounds, the stinging making Grom wince. The two guards who administered his torture watched, blank faced, as they cleaned their knives, preparing for another day.

"Little human." Grom grumbled. Risana stopped working and looked up, her startled eyes peering at his face with concern. Grom would have laughed if he was not so surprised. This was the first time that a human had looked at him with any positive emotions, if one did not count the disgusting fascination Uzamon had with him. "Water."

Risana finished cleaning his wounded thighs, before setting a high stool in front of him so that she could bring the bowl of water to his lips. He drank greedily, and his thirst was barely satisfied before the liquid was gone. Sighing, he made no protests at the lack of water. _This is all part of the torture_. His gaze met Captain Herza's who merely nodded at Grom seeming to know what he was thinking, while he talked to the two torturers in low tones.

It was dark by the time Risana finished cleaning his wounds. She was fastidious with each and every one of his cuts, using the stool to reach his shoulders and arms. He was surprised that she had put so much effort into his comfort. He initially thought that her orders included the careful treatment, but her gentle touches and studiousness disproved that idea. _Perhaps she holds me in high regard considering I didn't use her for my pleasure_. _Then again, the weak are drawn to the strong._ _Of course, she wants to be on my good side._ Grom was still disgusted by the fact that some humans had pedophilic tendencies. He had not known any orc with such attractions and if he had he would have slaughtered them outright.

Risana placed a small smoking brazier near Grom's feet before curling up at the base of one of the trees. _Ah, for the mosquitos_. Grom allowed himself a fond smirk when he saw that Risana had fallen asleep. _Stupid little human._ _If I were a man, I would take you with me when I escape, but an orc has no need for human companions._

The next week continued much the same way with torture during the day and Risana treating him at dusk. Because his neck was getting tired due to the restraints keeping his body in an awkward posture, he mostly watched the shadows on the ground to keep track of the time of day or watched the slave that held Uzamon's umbrella tend to the garden. It was strange that such an old slave who had trouble bending down would oversee such a large garden. It seemed terribly inefficient. _Perhaps the slave master is bigger fool that I originally thought._

Captain Herza, however, was no fool. Although, Grom was not one to use torture he could respect the man for making sure his pain was fresh each time. Every other day his wounds were reopened and some afternoons Uzamon would eat his extravagant meals in full view smiling all the while. Grom was not allowed food, but he was given water to survive. Some nights, Risana would sneak scraps to him, for which he was grateful. They never spoke as the only thing they had in common was slavery, but his daily quota for conversation was satisfied by Captian Herza with an exchanging of taunts. Even if it wasn't much, it at least made part of the day more bearable. Another week of suffering and Grom started feeling that his torturers were suffering along with him.

"You seem tense." Grom rasped out. The sun was not kind to him. It gave him no respite, always seeming to avoid the clouds that dotted the sky.

Captain Herza raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would a slave know?" Captain Herza was again pacing back and forth watching his subordinates slice away at his body. It seemed today they were focusing on his back, which was rarely touched for some reason. Grom assumed that the crossbar that he was chain to made it awkward to reach some parts, but he was glad that at least part of his body was not in constant agony. Grom had noticed the Captain's usually methodical steps were quicker, as if agitated.

"A slave would not know anything. But I'm no slave." Grom was having a hard time speaking because his mouth and throat were terribly dry.

Captain Herza actually chuckled. One of the guards allowed his knife to slip in surprise cutting deeper into the muscle. Grom groaned in pain. "Watch yourself." Grom rasped angrily before he could stop himself.

After a brief silence the Captain replied in his usual monotone voice, "The master has been putting pressure on us."

Grom was surprised he gave him information. It seemed the Captain was strangely talkative today. Apparently, the guards also seemed to think so.

"Captain…" One of them cautioned while warily looking around the garden as if for some eavesdropper.

"Don't worry. I doubt that our prisoner will talk to His Worship. And if the master hears, I'll take the blame." Captain Herza said waving off the concerns of the guards. "You have been causing us a lot of trouble, Grommash."

Grom nodded. "Why don't you let me go and I'll take care of your problem for you."

The Captain's pacing changed course, his frame drawing closer to Grom's. Slap! Grom's dry lips split, spilling blood down his chin. Captain Herza had never personally raised a hand in harming Grom before, but now the Captain stood before him with more emotion than he had seen in all his time under the man's watchful gaze.

"Do not take my loose tongue today as a sign comradery. A slave should know his place." Captain Herza spat. Adjusting his loose uniform for creases, the Captain composed himself. "My family has served the house of Horan for generations and I will not be the first to be disloyal."

"I commend your loyalty. But will he show you the same loyalty?"

"I avoid the slums of Meereen and live a comfortable life. I am given everything I ever need. That is enough loyalty for me."

"A comfortable life? Heh. He keeps you're here to torture prisoners, when glory can be earned outside these walls." Scoffed Grom. But in his mind he was thinking about a way home. _There is also knowledge out there._

"What do you know of glory? You are chained here when you could have accepted your place and earned the glory you speak of in the fighting pits."

"But it will not be my glory. Your master will be the only one to benefit from my supposed glory. Look at yourself. Everything you do here is for the weak human that you call master. He is nothing but a dog. And if he is a dog, then what does that make his servants? Where is the honor? Where is the glory in that?"

Captain Herza fell silent as if in deep thought. Suddenly he turned to leave, but not before calling his guards to him. "The slave is feeling chatty today. No water for the ungrateful."

Grom stared at his tormenters' retreating backs rasping to himself, "How petty."

The Captain was absent the next few days, but the guards returned to administer punishment as always. It seemed when they were not under their superior's watchful eyes, they didn't bother torturing Grom for as long. The two guards only cut enough to maintain appearances before leaving or lounging in the garden chatting amongst themselves. Sometimes they even called Risana over to entertain them before tossing her some scraps. The humans of this world had so far given Grom a bad impression, who grew more and more angry every day that he had been captured by such disgusting creatures.

Grom was still starving but he had several days of respite from pain before Captain Herza returned. When the Captain finally came back, he didn't return alone. Grom heard them coming before he even saw them.

"No more excuses Captain." Uzamon's flowery voice overflowed with anger. "The other families have long laughed at us, but now I have something that even they will be envious of. But more importantly I need to replenish the family treasury. I have already spent enough honors on my little investment – "

"Your worship," Captain Herza's voice cut Uzamon's rant off when he noticed Grom's listless form.

Uzamon blinked finally noticing where he was as and his anger abated. "Ah yes."

"As you can see we have made sure that the slave still functions, as per your instructions."

Uzamon stepped closer to Grom's body inspecting the healing cuts. "There are many wounds. You are sure that the slave can still fight."

"Yes."

"Your torture has left him weak, he looks to be barely breathing."

"I assure you he will make a full recovery after we have broken him in."

Uzamon did not look convinced. The slave master leaned in closer to inspect Grom's face. As soon as he was close, Grom's seemingly listless form struck. The days of starvation had taken its toll on his body, but now his thinner arms and legs were loosely held in their chains. Grom pinned Uzamon's body to his own with his legs and opened his mouth wide before sinking his teeth into the shoulder of the master. He pulled his left arm out of their chains dislocating his thumb in the process to secure his hold.

A howl of pain momentarily deafened Grom's ears. The slave master struggled, but he was weak revealing the toll a life in pure luxury exacted on the body. Uzamon struggled, but Grom had the slave master's left arm pinned with his right knee and the other arm uselessly flailed about as Grom bit deep into the muscle. Unfortunately, Grom was still chained at his wrist and both ankles, leaving only his mouth, injured left arm, and thighs to hold onto his struggling prey, but he was not known as the chieftain of the Warsong for naught.

"Don't move or your master will die." Grom's low rasp was clearly heard by all those present. The guards still approached with swords drawn however, their horror evident on their faces.

"Listen to him!" Screamed Uzamon.

"Halt!" Commanded Captain Herza. The guards stilled, but kept their weapons raised. Captain Herza spoke as if to a cornered animal. "You know you will die if His Worship dies. Let him go."

Grom spat blood out of his mouth. "I care not. But I think he does."

Uzamon's moans finally ceased, but he still panted from obvious pain. "What do you want?"

"Obviously, freedom."

"Your freedom is our ruin. I would rather die than let a slave free."

 _Not just any slave. Only me,_ Grom thought in satisfaction. He had planned for this very moment. The rant of the slave master had only confirmed his suspicions. Such a lavish home, but the same guards every day to torture him, old slaves tending to the dying gardens, and the continued service of Risana, when Grom had shown his obvious displeasure. The master could have continued to try to tempt him with different pleasure slaves, but continued to rely on the young slave girl, even for treating his wounds. While she was dedicated, she was obviously untrained. They were the signs of a once wealthy house leading to ruin. And why go to such lengths to avoid permanent injury during his torture. It was obvious that they needed him. But of course, the master would never let him go once he had become this desperate. So Grom spoke carefully, "I thought as much. But I think a man such as yourself is not averse to an exchange?"

"I do not make deals with slaves."

"I do not think you are in a position to hold onto such beliefs."

Uzamon's grimace deepened as if the pain of his next words was worse than his physical wounds. "What sort of exchange."

"Don't give into this… this animal's demands!" Captain Herza growled, raising his sword in preparation to attack Grom.

"Do not move!" Uzamon knew what his head of guards was planning and of course he had no wish to die today. "I would rather live with one shame than die at the hands of my own men. If you make a move I will die."

"Good. I will make a deal that will benefit both us." Grom said, "I am no lunatic and I know what is reasonable." Uzamon nodded indicating to Grom to continue. "I will fight for you in the pits."

Grom heard the captain gasp in surprise, but his gaze was Uzamon's face who looked both wary and excited. "And in exchange?"

"Knowledge."

"What?" The slave master looked confused.

"You give me access to any information I request and teach me or find someone to teach me anything I ask of."

"Knowledge is power. If I were to allow you to educate yourself then you would only be a slave in all but name. That is unprecedented." _The slave master is strangely more perceptive than I give him credit for,_ Grom thought frowning. _He reveals it at the worst time too._

"Making a deal with me is already unprecedented."

Uzamon closed his eyes in deep thought. In that pause, it seemed the entire garden's occupants held their breaths awaiting the decision. Letting out a slow breath Uzamon spoke, "Unchain the slave." Uzamon made to move out of Grom's hold, but he did not let go.

"We made a deal!" The slave master shouted in outrage.

"I am making sure your men honor it. Have the little slave girl unchain me first."

"Captain, fetch Risana and give her the keys."

There was a deep tension in air as Risana tried to remove the chains as quick as she could, but it was tedious work because of her small frame and short stature. By the time she had completely unrestrained Grom, the guards were restless, shifting from foot to foot as if anticipating a fight. Grom shoved the silken slave master away from himself, standing on his own two feet for the first time in a long while, and rubbed at where his restraints had chafed his limbs. Grom grinned, "Uzamon zo Horan, it seems we have a deal."

As his guards fetched a healer, the slave master only nodded, grimacing at his pain and hurt pride and cursing the name Grommash Hellscream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mourn For the Fallen**

The blonde knight kneeled in front of the tall statue of the Father in the dusty sept of Starfall. Ever since he was old enough to walk, he prayed before the Seven. In particular, to the Father and the Warrior. And sometimes to the Stranger. Although, this one never answered…

His family jokingly called him Baelor the Blessed come again. Especially his brother, but those days were long gone with his death… and his sister's death. Still, Arthas had his duty to his remaining family. As the one they called the Sword of the Morning, Arthas could not abandon the duties of knighthood. Although, many in the Seven Kingdoms called him the Sword in Mourning instead due to his departure from the war after the death of his brother and his supposed brush with death at the battle of the Trident where his commander Lewyn Martell was slain, along with Rhaegar.

They were correct that he had gone home to mourn and recover. His physical injuries were not severe, but guilt and shame clouded his mind. All those years ago, they had offered him Dawn, but he deferred the honor to Arthur saying that Arthur was the greater swordsman, which they reluctantly accepted. His real reason was so that he could spend more time gathering a loyal group of men to become his private spy network and militia in addition to researching the old threats to the world. He himself spent enough time reading that the maester sometimes went to him to confirm the details of certain history.

By the time he returned home, he learned that Arthur was dead and so was Ashara, compounding his shame and guilt at not accepting that glowing sword, Dawn, to somehow relieve Arthur of his fate and so prevent the deaths of two of his family. And now the sword had come back to him. Arthas could not refuse the people of Starfall a second time.

Although he continued mourning, it was not the main reason for his departure from the war. 'They' came to him like they had when he lay breathing his last. The people of Dorne were sympathetic, the rest of the Kingdoms less so. They said that he was driven slightly mad by the grief and so developed eccentricities unbefitting a knight of his stature. Though, those same people still feared his sword. His prowess was displayed at tourneys as a method of recruiting for his secretive group, but others thought that he wanted to make sure that people didn't forget the power of the one they called the Sword of the Morning.

"Hello Arthas, my son." A deep voice greeted, echoing throughout the empty sept.

Arthas raised his head to set his blue eyes upon the statue of the Father. A wispy specter drifted out and gazed down at the kneeling knight. The ghost's pale eyes showed nothing but sadness at the man before him.

"Father." Arthas greeted earnestly. His father had visited when he returned from fighting against the rebellion and so had another…

"I've caught glimpses of the war that ravages the Kingdoms." Said another deep voice. Arthas turned his head towards the Warrior, where another ghost drifted out. Uther the Lightbringer. Where his father's voice showed his pity for his son, Uther's voice held poorly hidden disappointment at his once greatest student. "I fear that the Burning Legion has their hand in this worlds conflicts once again."

"Yes. It seems that way." Arthas's father, Terenas agreed, "After all, conflict breeds desperation. And desperation leads to risky decisions…"

"Quite." Uther said brusquely, staring at Arthas. The blonde-haired knight lowered his head in shame. It was the least he could do considering what he did in his past life. He was lucky that the Light had judged him worthy of redemption. Although, he suspected his father had a hand in that. His father was everything a king should be, including forgiving. If he could complete his trials in this land perhaps he could join his father and Uther. The empty darkness awaiting him in the afterlife was certainly a terrible fate.

"You are certain they are going to play more direct role this time?" Arthas asked.

Uther nodded and Terenas grimaced. His father's tone was sad when he spoke. "Yes. I'm afraid the heroes Azeroth could not completely destroy the Burning Legion. With the Bronze Dragons in disarray as well, they haven't been keeping track of the violations of time."

Uther snorted. "We cannot rely on those keepers of time. They have been compromised. The Burning Legion's hold on so many worlds is weakening, but on this one they still think they have a chance to recover... Another stepping stone towards their goal."

"Indeed. We thought that the rebellion was a perfect time for them to strike, but I think that it was merely a small part of their plan." Terenas gravely added. Arthas frowned. Last time his father and his old teacher visited they had informed him of the unfortunate fate of the Mad King. The slow corruption of the Burning Legion had driven the man to insanity. It seemed that the strange obsession for burning people must have been an unfortunate side effect of the whispering of demons.

"With the Kingdoms more disorganized and divided than before, I fear that it may now be time." Uther declared. Arthas agreed. Why else would he have been born in this period of time? After all, he couldn't be offered redemption by the Light if his trials occurred after he died or before he was born…

"What must I do?" The blonde eyed knight asked solemnly.

"We informed you of the possible threat returning from the North. However, our eyes don't reach that far, so what of your network?" Asked Uther. It was unfortunate that the Northerners were not followers of the Seven. It would have made his job much easier, but then they wouldn't be trials if they were easy. Arthas furrowed his brow in frustration. _If only the more of those Northerners married like Ned did_. Ned Stark, the now dead Warden of the North, had built a sept in Winterfell for his Southern wife allowing the Light to be privy to information that they wouldn't otherwise know, which meant when his father and Uther could take shape they always had information that Arthas could use. Otherwise he relied on his loyal spies located throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

"I have heard of the dead moving behind the walls," Arthas answered.

Teneras stroked his chin in thought. "Hmmm. Things are moving quicker than we imagined."

"But not in an unexpected way. I've been researching the White Walkers for years and I will make sure that knowledge will be wielded like a spear against them." Arthas replied, with a hint of anger. _If it wasn't for my selfishness Arthur and Ashara could still be here._ Teneras gave Arthas a pitying look. His father could always see through him. While most would think his anger was justifiably directed at the undead for both destroying his people and for his fall from the Light, Teneras knew that Arthus was angry at himself for what he considered selfishness for focusing on his own path of redemption; so focused on that, that he forgot his very own family. Teneras didn't say anything. The last time he did, Arthas compared his actions to when he had killed him. And when Arthas went down that train of thought, not much else could be done.

"While your dutifulness is commendable, I'm afraid we will be fighting on more than one front." Uther interjected, "We have noticed the presence of Burning Legion entities on this world."

"Physical manifestations?" Arthas asked, his horrified faced looked to his father, who only grimly nodded in confirmation. "How do you know?"

"Our very presence here should tell you that the Burning Legion has done something to consume a great deal of power." Uther answered. _True… The Burning Legion doesn't have enough power to keep the Light from allowing two souls into the physical plane, so they must have done something as big or even more than last time,_ thought Arthas.

"They aren't the demons themselves, but we do feel the taint of the Burning Legion on them, so perhaps servants?" Teneras said, "There are some sources of their corruption inn Westeros and maybe some in Essos. There aren't any septs over in Essos so we can't be sure and our vision is somehow being blocked over here so you will have to keep your network vigilant."

 _I need to send the message out without sounding too crazy_ , thought Arthas. _Also, I need to send my spies to Essos. I was an idiot for thinking that this would be easy. There should have been spies over there already. Perhaps, I should start by sending a few to Qarth?_ Arthas's thoughts were interrupted when he saw Uther glancing up in concern.

"What's the matter?" Arthas asked while getting up from his kneeling position.

"They are looking for us." Uther growled. Arthas was alarmed. _How have they replenished their power so quickly?_ The ghostly paladin slowly faded back into the statue of the Warrior, but not before saying, "The Burning Legion seems to have more tricks this time. We will try to keep you informed, but you may be on your own for a while."

Arthas was used to the commanding presence of Uther but it still hurt a bit to see his dismissal of the man who had once been his pupil. Teneras was better, offering a few comforting words before he too faded into his statue. "Goodbye my son. The Light be with you."

When the ghosts both completely faded, leaving Arthas alone did he respond with conviction, "The Holy Light be with you too."

The knight gathered his helmet, tucking the simple grey armor under his arm. He lifted Dawn gently hooking it onto his belt securely and strode out of the sept. Pushing the heavy wooden doors open forcefully, the bright sun of Dorne momentarily blinded him. When his vision adjusted he looked out at the place he now called home.

Starfall. A beautiful place where buildings glittered in the sun as their bricks were of a brilliant white color. The gardens dotted here and there added a lustrous green on the blinding background. The towers shined from high above piercing the clear blue skies. Seeing this always hardened Arthas's resolve. _The Burning Legion shall not touch this pristine place…_

"Ser?" A questioning voice asked with concern. Arthas turned towards one of his faithful followers, Ser Erwin Sand of House Qorgyle. The native of Sandstone was proficient with the spear as he had grown up with Prince Oberyn Martell, who had been fostered there. Arthas realized that the knight had asked him something, which was why he was still looking at him in concern.

"Sorry, Erwin." Arthas said, refocusing his mind to the task at hand. "I was merely admiring the beauty of Starfall." Ser Erwin gave Arthas a questioning look. "As knights it is our duty to uphold the will of Seven. But as members of the Knights of the Silver Hand, we must protect all of humanity against the forgotten evils of the world."

Ser Erwin's mouth curved into a grim smile, his tanned face showing none of the usual mirth that he usually displayed. "What vision have the Seven granted you?"

Athas turned his blue gaze on the black-haired knight, who held his gaze. Many people failed to meet his eyes when he turned it upon them. Arthas had been told that his eyes held the weight of a veteran who had seen horrors that none could ever hope to imagine. Arthas had merely nodded and replied I hope that those horrors stay that way. "Am I that easy to read, Ser?"

"No."

 _Ser Erwin has known me for a long time now so it's not too surprising._ "Yes. Dark visions." Arthas replied. This was always the hardest part to explain. Finding just and competent knights who were also devout was hard enough already. But they needed to believe in Arthas himself as an emissary of the Seven. Something about him persuaded people though. "We need to begin moving."

"The forces in the North are easy enough to mobilize, but those in the South might need more time – "

"That phase can wait. They can take their time mobilizing, make sure it is not too suspicious." Arthas interrupted, "We need to expand the network."

"Ser?"

"I have received news of the enemy of the Light stirring in the east. Our fellow knights are all occupied, are there any others we can recruit to our cause over there?"

Ser Erwin folded his arms across his chest as he thought. "The one I remember is Ser Jorah Mormont."

"Who I have suspicion to believe is in the pocket of Varys."

"Well there is John Connington…"

"Lord."

"What?"

"It's Lord John Connington." Arthas replied in a way that showed pity towards the exiled Lord.

"Yes, Lord John Connington is a possibility. Although, he seems to be preoccupied these years, more so than usual as a member of the Golden Company."

"What about Ser Barristan?" Asked Ser Erwin. "He too has been exiled and as one of the greatest knights the realm has ever known, he could be a great asset."

"While he is true knight, there is little doubt that he plans to pledge himself to the one he believes deserves the crown." At Ser Erwin's slightly disbelieving look, Arthas further explained, "I have no doubt of his skills and his dutifulness is one unmatched, but he is shorted sighted, seeing no further than the troubles of the present."

Although Ser Erwin looked doubtful he trusted Arthas's judgement.

"Hmmm. Although, it would be easier to find someone who believes in the Seven, I believe we are thinking narrowly. We may need to draw some Essosians into the fold." Arthas continued.

"Who will we send?" Arthas's trusted companion asked thinking deeply.

Arthas smiled, "I believe we will need to send someone who can show them our conviction leaving no doubts."

The knight in front of him muttered to himself, "Who? Ser Lucas is close to Kingslanding, but he is not the most persuasive… who is not on mission?" Arthas's smile grew as he saw his friend's face morph to surprise. "You do not mean yourself!?"

Arthas boasted jokingly, "Who else can fully display our righteous cause?"

"But who will oversee the missions in Westeros?"

"Why not you?"

The Sandstone knight spluttered, "I'm not ready Arthas! Surely there is someone else?"

Arthas gave his friend a look that gave no room for argument, "I am confident you are the knight for the job."

Such was the Arthas's conviction that Ser Erwin stopped his excuses and nodded, "I will not disappoint."

"Good man." Arthas and Ser Erwin had entered the main courtyard. _I need to inform Lord Dayne and Allyria of my departure._ "Send the ravens, Erwin. I must speak with my brother and sister. Be sure to mention that we must be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary… the vision was not specific, but I am sure there will be dark forces stirring other than those in the North."

Ser Erwin saluted and walked back the way they had entered. Although, Arthas was vague he was sure Ser Erwin knew how to phrase the messages so that the network understood. _He is one of the best of my Knights of the Silver Hand_.

Arthas nodded at the servant who opened the door to his family's ancestral home. He was unsure if his mission in Essos would be successful, but he couldn't help but say to himself, _I shall not fail. Those who oppose the faith of the Holy Light shall be slain without mercy. The North will wait for now, but the unknowns will be dealt with first! Await your judgement demons of Westeros and Essos!_

* * *

The roar of the crowd drowned out any noise that came from the fighters. Grom stood at the shaded side of the fighting pit already sweating. The heat was tremendous, his bare feet almost burning in the dust. Far across the open expanse, where men did battle for glory and other's honors, his opponents stood under the blistering sun. Although, they didn't seem to feel the heat instead they had a feeling relief. _They are fighting me together… I guess they know what happens to the weak._

Meereen's regulars seemed to share that feeling of relief, as they jeered at Grom with reckless abandon or sat fingering their soon to be full coin pouches by betting against the current champion. Grom had handedly destroyed his previous opposition a few weeks ago and the regulars wanted their money back. He could also hear the sailors, merchants, and other visitors shouting from high above the pit for an easy victory thinking that two fine fighters could beat the reigning champion. Of course, the money of House Horan was not something that could be ignored. Uzamon and his entourage had once again put an almost unheard-of amount of honors at these smaller fighting pits into his victory.

Grom was not worried. He was sure of his victory. However, both of the fighters seemed better than the ones he'd been facing. Perhaps they had been brought by other minor Houses to take the money of House Horan. Looking into the lower seating where the more noble and richer audience sat, he saw two extravagantly dressed Meereenese smirking at Uzamon. Both had the typical stylized and dyed hair of Meereen, although theirs were full of gold jewels. Uzamon did not seem pleased by their presence despite him talking to Captain Herzan in a seemingly relaxed manner, if his frown and constant glances at them were any indication.

Gong-ong-ong-ong-ong. The loud ringing of the bronze gong sounded over the rabble and then was covered up by the crowds excited clamoring. _Let the fight begin!_ Grom rocked on his heels shifting the long sword in his hand. His body was itching for a fight. His grin must have put the two humans in front of him on guard, because they suddenly tensed bringing up their weapons.

 _I will need to be careful this time around. They actually look competent._ Grom first eyed the one on the left. His face was obscured by a helmet, but he could tell that he was going to be a tough opponent, if the bright shifting eyes he could see through the helmet were any indication. Other than the helmet, the man had one thick metal shoulder pad on his left arm, which held a small round shield. The other hand held a long sword.

The other one was bigger, still not as tall as Grom, but well-muscled with thick scars revealing his experience with combat. His head was bald and his eyes dark, staring at Grom with an intensity that wouldn't be uncommon on a hunter stalking his prey. His hands were empty but clenched and unclenched periodically as if he couldn't wait to grab the spears stabbed into the sand in front of him. A short sword was strapped to his waist in case Grom got too close.

As the silent standoff continued, the crowd slowly got quieter. Their talking became an impatient murmur, all wondering when the fight would begin. Suddenly, as if on some hidden signal Grom's opponents sprang into action. The bald one grabbed a spear, stepping back a bit, before launching the missile at Grom. Grom ran forward ducking deeply to let the spear sail over his head. He noticed the other fighter sprinting towards him on a curved path. _Ah, he wants to engage without worrying about the spears coming from behind him. Smart._

Grom's grin widened, his body was singing. The thrill of the coming fight was already filling him with bloodlust. As another spear was launched, Grom rolled left coming up into a defense stance in front of the helmeted fighter. Grom turned his sword diagonally, point facing the earth, so that he could block the slash coming from below. The man was shorter, making it bothersome to have to look downwards. The two swords clashed, sliding across each other before bouncing away. A shield slammed into his sword, close to his hand, forcing it inwards towards his own body while the sword came slashing downwards at his now torso. Grom moved in the same direction his sword was moving and leaned his right side away so that the sword passed harmlessly by. He let his own sword go, grabbing onto the edge of the shield and wrapped his left hand around the man's wrist as it came back up to deliver another attack. He forced the shield into the man's helmet, dropping him into the sand. A strangled gasp came out of the helmet as his arm was turned awkwardly, forcing him to let go of his weapon. Before Grom could kill his opponent, a spear thrust forced him to once again dodge to avoid being impaled.

 _It seems baldy has gotten impatient with me using this human as a shield._ Grom had maneuvered with the roll so that the helmeted fighter was between him and the spear thrower, but now the bald man was wielding the spear with two hands trying to poke holes in Grom's body. Another thrust forced him to back up, giving the downed fighter a chance to get up and pick up the sword that Grom forced him to relinquish.

They circled Grom like they were hunting a wild boar. The head of the spear approached from Grom's front and a quick glance revealed a slash from the sword was coming from behind. With a move that belied his size, he fluidly hooked his left arm over the spear, turning so that it pulled the weapon's user toward him. Grom's body also turned with this move so that he could face the sword, which he took care of by transferring his momentum into a lunge, placing his right arm under the sword. Grom grimaced as the sharp edge of the sword bit into his shoulder but he had a firm grip on his opponents' weapons. Both men looked completely surprised, which was emphasized by the huge rise of noise that came from the crowd. _It seems they are enjoying the show. Let them see what an orc can do!_

He felt the spear's backward facing edges cutting into his pec and upper arm, indicating the bald fighter was trying to pull his spear back. Ignoring the pain, Grom swung the helmeted man all the way around to hit the other's legs, knocking him off balance.

However, they both recovered more quickly than Grom gave them credit for. As he leapt forward to punch the off-balanced bald man, the other fighter on the ground kicked at Grom's legs tripping him so that he fell between his two opponents. Sand entered his left eye, forcing him to try to block the incoming slash with only one eye. He misjudged the distance and his arm was cut. Fortunately, the cut was not deep due to the swing being weak, as the fighter was still on his back forcing him to swing backwards. _Damn human!_ He scrambled to his feet quickly but not before a flash pain erupted from his back.

"Agh!" Grom yelled more in surprise than pain. Turning to see the bald man grinning as his spear dripped with Grom's blood. Grom inhaled deeply, before letting out his infamous blood curling war cry. The sound was so powerful that the crowd grew silent and his opponents froze for a split second. Grom may have imagined it because his heart was pounding in his ears, but the name Hellscream emanated from the spectators with awe and fear. _Let them see the might of a Warsong._

And that was when Grom charged. He barreled into the man that had cut his back, smashing that smiling face over and over again with his bare fists. His other opponent thought he could take advantage of the situation, slashing downwards with all his strength at Grom's exposed neck. Grom had other ideas. He rolled with the bald man in his arms.

"Hrrrrrr!" Blood splattered onto Grom's face as the bald man's head was halfway separated from his torso. Tossing the body at the now dead man's horrified teammate, Grom grabbed the hilt of the sword with his opponent's hand still on it and forced the man onto the ground. Grom could see the fear in the man's eyes through the helmet. His eyes said it all. He was panicking at the inevitable path of the sword, which didn't seem to budge no matter how hard he pushed.

The crowd groaned, mourning their losses, and House Horan cheered in victory. Grom stood atop the bodies of the slain, looking down at his most recent kill, whose own sword was embedded in his neck. Grom wiped his brow free of blood, admitting, _Not bad… For humans._


	4. Chapter 4

**The Champion**

Grommash cleaved his opponents in two, spilling their blood and guts across the dusty floor of the Golden Pit. The crowds reacted in an instant with groans or cheers depending on whether they bet on the victorious slave or not. Captain Herza Laroz was not a religious man but when he saw the large slave fight, he could only think Demon. This only confirmed his beliefs. The first time he thought of that comparison was seeing the slave's terrifying visage, mouth dripping blood, speaking from over His Worship's shoulder.

At the beginning, he had only placed his bets on Grommash because of the pressure from His Worship, Uzamon zo Horan. However, if Grommash had debuted in the Golden Pit then they would have already seen honors flow like rivers into their coffers. No one placed any coin on an unknown like Grommash, who had an imposing presence, but at that point was still slim and sickly looking from his captivity. Only those with the Horan house made any of their money back that day.

And that was how it began. Every fight earned the house Horan more and more money and no one could ignore the brutal newcomer. His Worship, Uzamon, was hardly without a smile these days as they had a turn of fortunes and he indulged Grommash whenever the slave asked for something. It was dangerous. Slaves were not meant to have so much power with a master, even one from a minor house such as Uzamon. According to His Worship, Grommash was not as thick as when he originally encountered him, but the slave had filled out again. On such a tall individual, the muscle-bound body of Grommash may have appeared slim, but up close he made for an imposing figure.

There he was now. Grommash approached Captain Herza with a scowl. "Weaklings." He raised his arms and Captain Herza attached the shackles to the slave's wrists. _It wouldn't do for a slave to be seen walking around free_.

Captain Herza raised one eyebrow in a question. "You fought five against one today. I would think that even you would find that a challenge."

"Ha. I spit on any challenge that these so-called masters can throw at me."

"I'm not surprised that you can say that, but pride comes before the fall." Captain Herza cautioned as he and several of his guards escorted Grommash through the crowd, climbing up towards the exits from the fighting pits below. While Grommash may not have needed any guards to protect him from the commoners, who parted before him like grass in front of the Dothraki hordes, Captain Herza was on guard against any of the other Masters who may wish to steal Grommash or kill him. His Worship Uzamon had been boasting about his new fighter's prowess so it was real possibility that the other Masters had grown tired of losing… or they may have even been threatened by the steady rise of house Horan.

"Pride? There is no pride in this. I am honor bound to defeat any weaklings that dare face me." Grom replied. When they exited the pit, Risana approached with a large towel so that Grom could wipe the blood off of his body.

Captain Herza sighed. "I am worried your honor will be the end of you. You should stop telling His Worship that every fight is easy, or he won't stop stacking the odds against you."

"I'll worry about my honor and you worry about your honors. I am sure that they are overfilling your pockets by now, so go do yourself a favor, get drunk, and go brawl. Let off some steam. I am sure even you can find someone measly enough to fight." Growled out Grom in amusement. Risana covered her laughter behind her hand, but her amusement quickly ended when Grommash dropped the bloody cleaning towel on her head.

Captain Herza did not respond to Grom's taunts but took enjoyment in Grom's growing annoyance at Risana's fussing over his bloody tunic and pants. Their journey was slow through the crowded streets of Meereen. The colorful merchants selling their wares interrupting their walk were a nuisance and the occasional beggar was unwelcomed. But Grommash made a good deterrent. Few dared approach when they saw the tall slave.

Captain Herza believed that he was a great soldier in his own right but seeing Grommash's imposing figure put doubt into his mind that he could beat the slave. Grommash was tall, probably the tallest man he had ever seen. He was not sure how he grew to that height, but he knew that some of the Khals were also men of great stature. Grommash had the skin tone of the Dothraki, a deep tan. His body was littered with scars, not including the ones that the torture had added, showing how many fights he had been in. The musculature of the slave would have made anyone doubt themselves, as Grommash was lean showing off every muscle on his body. But it was probably his face that gave most people pause. The slave was not ugly, but nor could he be called handsome. Grommash's face was usually set in a scowl which was emphasized by the tattooed jaw. A jaw colored dark as night. Although, Grommash had the body of a true warrior, his eyes showed a frightening intelligence, always seeming to analyze the environment for a tactical advantage and people for any weakness. Captain Herza was also glad that Grommash's raven black hair had grown out to cover his shoulders now, reaching to the middle of his upper back.

There was another tattoo on the slave's shoulder that made a part of Captain Herza want to scream in fear and he knew that others had the same reaction. That was why he rarely asked for his guards to torture Grommash's back. He had only gotten a glimpse, but that was enough for the image to be seared into his brain. The tattoo of a horned demon, mouth open as if howling in anger showing off sharp teeth. Even though it was only ink, it seemed unnatural and the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you stood. When asked about his tattoos, Grommash only ever spoke about the one on his chin, which made the Captain think that even the slave didn't know about the one on his back. Then again, considering how much Grommash hated looking at his reflection, he didn't find it surprising that the slave had no idea the tattoo on his back was something so evil.

The sun was low in the sky highlighting the great shadows of the pyramids over Meereen. Luckily the estate of house Horan was on a hill further away from the slums between the pyramids. At the gilded gates, Captain Herza took a pair of ankle shackles from a newly bought slave. She didn't bow at Captain Herza as she retreated, so he made a note to remind the head house slave to discipline her. _I'd rather not spend any more on new slaves._ The master had all the older slaves culled after the incident with Grommash to ensure none of them could undermine his rule or spread the tale. After all, no one could know that a deal was made with a slave.

After chaining Grommash's legs he allowed the large man to shuffle to the slave quarters to wash up, led by Risana and tailed by two of his best guards. When Grommash's form finally disappeared from view, Captain Herza dismissed the rest of the guards and began walking to the main structure where the master lived. He let out a breath finally relaxing. Captain Herza still didn't feel comfortable around the large slave. He breathed in the scent of lemons, which sprouted from the trees that lined the straight path. The scent always helped him relax.

He found the master being serviced by the newest pleasure slaves, so he waited outside the door until the sounds of moans and grunts ceased. He walked in to the luxurious room, brushing past the two pleasure slaves who streaked past him not bothering to put on their clothes. Captain Herza bowed, "Another victory today."

A brunette young woman robed His Worship in brightly colored silks as he ate fresh fruit from a golden platter. "Yes, the other Great Masters have been trying to find out where I found such nice merchandise. They have been making extravagant offers trying to outbid each other, but why would I ever sell." The master laughed, "I think I will allow my champion another tutor."

"Your Worship, I think you indulge Grommash to much." Captain Herza said carefully. He knew he shouldn't have been questioning the master's decisions, but Grommash was dangerous.

Apparently, the master held no fears, waving off Captain Herza's caution, "My Captain, I know slaves like him. He only lives for fighting. And if he wants to read books in his free time I will not waste time dissuading him, as long as he does not bring attention to that one allowance."

"If you say so, Your Worship."

"Come. I have some news to share with you." His Worship, Uzamon, directed Captain Herza to the ornately carved table near the window. He shoved a scroll into the hands of Captain Herza and went back to eating. "Read this."

Captain Herza's eyes grew larger and larger as he reached the end of the scroll. _This is unbelievable._ He took a moment to compose himself, knowing that the Master was watching him with a knowing smirk, before saying, "I congratulate you, Magnifigance. You have certainly used the deal with Grommash to its full advantage."

Uzamon laughed allowed not bothering to pick up the fruit that he dropped onto his lap in his excitement. "Congratulations is too underwhelming of a word! This is what my family has dreamed of for generations. To think that I will be the one to take the first steps towards the Great Masters!"

 _I think His Worship might be taking this too far. But still, this is good news._ Captain Herza couldn't believe Uzamon said that. The Great Masters were the members of the old slaving families that ruled Meereen, a far step beyond normal men. But then again, Uzamon zo Horan had gambled everything to reach that prestige. If one looked at it that way, the document he had just read was a sign of great things to come. "Are you sure there are no hidden traps in this? Understanding the intricacies of politics has never been my strong suit."

"Oh, the invitation could definitely be a trap." The Captain looked at Uzamon with a questioning gaze, but stayed silent, seeing that His Worship was still smiling confidently. "That is why I have asked you here tonight. You will provide extra guards for me, but especially my prized fighter. I have no doubt there will be attempts at interfering with the fight or even taking away my greatest possession. Leave the politics to me and I will leave security to you."

Nodding, Captain Herza replied, "I will not disappoint."

"Of course. When we succeed, the Great Masters will have to acknowledge what my house has done. They will owe me a great favor for this. Long have the Slaver Cities been united, but of course we all must do what we can to sell our wares. If using the fighting pits to advertise the worth of our slaves is what is necessary, then who am I to complain. With my victory, I will secure Meereen as producing the greatest fighting slaves in all the world and the Great Masters will be in the palm of my hand." Uzamon brushed his silken robe off as he stood, now fully engaged in the conversation. His smile was present, but his eyes showed that he was serious. "We have a good amount of time, before the Good Master and his representatives arrive from Astapor. So, I want you to gather as much information as you can on their slave. While I trust Grommash is a great fighter, the way those Good Masters have been talking makes me wary."

Astapor was one of the three great Slaver Cities which also included Meereen and Yunkai. Although he had never been to Astapor he had of its beauty and of course their greatest merchandise, the Unsullied. The Unsullied were known throughout the land as fearless warriors without equal, and to think the Good Masters of Astapor had found a slave that was even greater. "What have you heard about the one they call The Pale?"

Here Uzamon frowned about. "I have not heard too much useful information from the other Masters, which is to be expected considering this fighter's origins. We know that they captured this slave far to the east, closer to the Cities of the Bloodless Men."

Letting out a gasp, Captain Herza's disbelief was evident. "Impossible. A slave captured from that far and from there?"

"Yes. According to the other Masters, the slave's skin is evidence enough to prove that he is from one of those cities."

"No wonder this slave excels at combat. I have heard rumors of great evils performed in Cities of the Bloodless Men."

"As have I, which is only one more reason to kill such a fighter originating from there. That is all the information that I have right now, but I will of course summon you again if I hear anything else."

"Yes. Thank you, Your Worship." Captain Herza bowed. _I will need to visit the Golden Pit to find out the optimal locations for our guards. Who should I hire? I do not have enough men for this operation. I need to send my informants their new tasks. Who can blend in with the rest of the slaves in case of treachery…_

Captain Herza's mind raced as he left His Worship's chambers. There was a lot to be done, but Uzamon's excitement was certainly contagious.

* * *

"I see…" Grom was currently having Risana read to him from one of the many tomes that Uzamon delivered at his request. The tutors that were provided were useful, but Grom did not learn to read and write as fast as Risana, so he usually had her help him out after the tutor left. Risana had a gift for languages it seemed. Or being young, the words didn't all mix together in an undecipherable jumble in her head. Grom hated relying on others on these aspects, but he had no choice. He needed to find a way back. _If only we didn't have to dig through all this useless information._

"Qarth, the Queen of Cities, sits on the coast of the Jade Sea, and allows…" Risana continued reading not seeing Grom's undisguised boredom. _At least she seems to be enjoying it._ The little human never lost her interest no matter the topic. When he asked how, she said that being able to see the world through the words on those pages was exciting for a slave like her.

"Enough." Grumbled Grom. Risana stopped reading, her large brown eyes curiously looked up at him. "I'm going to go train. Keep reading if you want."

Risana nodded, hugging the tome close to her chest as she followed Grom, having to jog every so often to keep up with his larger strides. When they arrived at the training yard, Grom picked up a sword as soon as the gate was shut and locked. _They are right to be_ scared, thought Grom eyeing the guards posted around the walls.

As Grom swung at the dummies he thought about the warlocks of Qarth. This was longest amount of time that Grom had spent on one topic during his tutoring, but once he heard the word warlock his interest was like an iron grip. That was why he had Risana read him everything there was on the city and the House of the Undying. He needed to know if they had the power to send him home. Warlocks back on Azeroth could summon and control demons, so perhaps the ones here also had that experience. And if demons could be summoned, members of the Burning Legion could be questioned. However, so far, the warlocks were only mentioned, their powers only hinted at, which meant that their magics were kept secret. Grom took his frustration out on the defenseless dummies. _Useless. I will have to make a personal visit instead. And if that is fruitless, I will need to travel to visit the maesters in Oldtown. In their endless library there must be some knowledge I can use…_

Grom was prepared. The Captain had informed of a great challenger coming from Astapor with one of the Good Masters. Apparently, he needed to win so that Meereen could prove their slave superiority. As if he cared about their motivations for him, he would win regardless of any challenger and no matter the reason.

After bathing, Grom and Risana ate together inside the luxurious room that he was originally held captive in. Their meals were not fancy, but they got enough to eat, and the meals were chosen by Grom himself. Healthy and filling meals were one of many extra perks that Grom received and Risana as well for her diligence in taking care of him. It was still unfortunate that he could not hunt for his own food.

Risana finished her meal quickly but didn't start reading right away as she would usually do. Instead she sat on her stool at their small table looking at Grom looking conflicted. Taking pity on her as he eyed her fidgety form, Grom asked, "What is it?"

"Grom…" She looked very nervous.

"Yes?" The orc turned man put down his food and stared intently at the tiny human in front of him.

She squirmed under his gaze and when it seemed like she wouldn't say anything she blurted out, "Take me with you!"

"Shhhh!" Grom put a finger in front of his mouth to remind her to be quiet. He looked at the thick door to their chambers and didn't see any movement. _That was too close. I should have realized she was going to be a liability sooner._ "Remember there are ears and eyes everywhere. Now, what are you talking about?"

"Don't try to hide it now." Risana frowned, leaning forward to compensate for her exaggerated whisper, "Why else would you be acting like this. I saw you."

The fighter sitting across from her grimaced, crossing his muscular arms across his chest as he quietly berated himself. _I wasn't sneaky enough. Then again sneaking was never my strength._ Risana had grown comfortable around Grom after all their time together, but she was never this forward. "Hmmm. I'll let you in on the secret but remember to be discrete."

Risana nodded her head enthusiastically, her dark brown hair slipping into the soup for second, but she didn't notice in her excitement. Grom threw her a towel as he continued in a low voice, "I'm planning on escaping after the fight at the Golden Pit."

The little human across from him didn't look surprised and started grinning. "I knew it."

Grom suppressed a chuckle, but wasn't quick enough apparently, because Risana's grin grew even wider. She always looked so happy whenever she thought she made him laugh. He reached over and patted her head, his large hand almost encompassing her entire head. "No need to brag. I wasn't the most careful in keeping it hidden anyway."

Risana pouted, her eyes shining with laugher. Grom straightened back up revealing just how tall he was even when seated. "Do you think anyone else knows."

"No." Risana's replied quickly at Grom's change of tone. "I only know because we share the same bed. The bed moves a lot when you get up."

"Ah." Risana still slept at the foot of his bed, even though she was provided a small bed of her own. Hearing her reply, Grom relaxed again and started eating again. "I don't think I can take you."

"Why!" Risana angrily questioned.

"Well, I am not a great companion and I don't plan on going anywhere safe." He was thinking about Qarth. Going there meant risking capture of course, considering that they too practiced slavery. There was no way it was safe, as once he escaped, he would be a high-profile target. But he was used to living on the run and hiding, even if it prickled at his pride. Sometimes, fighting had to be avoided. Seeing that Risana was going to protest Grom quickly said, "And you are a child still. I have no idea how to take care of younglings."

"What? I am almost a woman, look." She pulled down her shirt, baring her budding breasts at him. "I've already flowered – "

"Pull up your shirt!" Grom averted his gaze, looking at the door in case a guard happened to peak in. He didn't want to have all his persuading that he wasn't a pedophile to be for naught.

Risana readjusted her shirt as she became more animated, her hands moving as if they would emphasize her words, "I can take care of myself, and…" She looked at Grom with a determined gaze. "I don't care if we go somewhere dangerous, as long as I'm free, and I get to go with you I will be happy."

Grom sighed heavily. She thought he was unstoppable, ever since he killed those guards forcing her to pleasure them. He was only reprimanded in response, which probably didn't help Risana's view of him. Grommash Hellscream was certainly unstoppable, but only he was. He couldn't say the same for Risana. "I can't protect you from everything."

"I know. But, I've been training!"

He almost laughed. A weak human female like her couldn't face any enemy. "The strong decide the future, and I say you stay."

"I'm not weak. I can do things you can't! I can read and write, I can speak a lot of languages, I can cook, I can earn money –"

"With what? Your body?" Scoffed Grom.

"Yes." She spat out. "We all have our skills. Some just aren't as savory as others. At least I can make lives happier. You can only take them."

She probably meant it as an insult, but he felt nothing for the human lives he took. If they were orcs maybe he would have felt a bit guilty. However, a proud orc proudly claimed his kills. "I see nothing wrong that. It keeps me alive."

"Take me with you!"

"No."

Risana looked very angry. It was a testament to how close she thought their lives had become if she was willing to show that much emotion and be that vocal in front of someone. She looked on the verge of tears. Grom finished his meal, stood up, and placed a hand on her shoulder. _This is comforting to humans as well I believe._ He could feel her shaking with rage. "How about this. I will think about it."

The human female looked even smaller with his scared hand resting on her shoulder. She shook it off and looked up at him with disbelieving eyes. "You promise?"

"Yes." He replied with all the authority of a clan chieftain, yet she still looked as if she did not believe him.

"Fine. I'll drop this for now, so you can rest. But we will talk about this before the Astapori come." She pushed his hand aside as she brushed past him to crawl into his bed, turning her back to him.

 _I don't want to lie._ Grom resigned himself to avoiding the conversation for as long as he could. _When the time comes I will leave without you._

* * *

Grom met the foreigners when he was given a tour of the Golden Pit. The Astapori Great Master was introduced by one of his many slaves as Sraz mo Nakloz. He was tall for a human and very fat. Grom could still detect the sour smell of seat under all the man's disgustingly sweet perfumes. Grom saw no signs of the challenger and was told they needed to teach him some manners before letting him out. Apparently, they thought their fighter a savage as he was from the Cities of the Bloodless Men. When the Great Masters and Uzamon talked to the Astapori, Grom got a good view of the Golden Pit. It was extravagant and could seat many people. However, Grom mostly looked for the best ways to sneak out and if necessary ways to fight his way out.

As the days to the fight drew near he could feel the anticipation building. Uzamon allowed Grom to train whenever he wished, which he gladly took advantage of. Every time he moved throughout the home of the master he could see that security was at an all-time high with guards stationed at every corner and manning every walk way. They weren't looking at Grom though, rarely looking longer than it took for them to get over the shock of seeing someone so large, before going back to their watch. They were obviously on the lookout for anyone attempting to sabotage the fight, because his entourage was larger than ever whenever they took to the streets of Meereen.

That all changed the day before the fight. A different kind of anticipation could be felt. Grom was not allowed to train that day either. When he asked as usual, the guard merely said there was a situation, but he looked nervous. _Has Uzamon insulted the Astapori or something?_ Grom had no idea what was happening. _This is bad. I won't be able to escape at this rate, especially with all the new swords around._ Risana had no clue to the cause of the situation either. She was back to her expressionless self, forgoing her more familiar personality when around Grom, showing that the tension was affecting her as well.

When he was finally allowed to train again there was still a palpable tension in the air. He had just finished splitting his last dummy in two and Risana brought a pitcher of water to him, when he noticed Captain Herza had been watching. The Captain sometimes came by his later training sessions. To relax, the Captain had said. This time the Captain looked troubled. Before he could leave, Grom shouted to him, "What has happened? The fight is still happening, right?"

Captain Herza looked like he was going to continue walking away, but his eyes lit up as if he had just thought of a good idea. _What is he thinking about?_ "The fight will happen. Just delayed."

"You do not sound confident."

"Always noticing things a slave should not notice." Sighed the Captain, the setting sun made his hook nose more prominent as it cast a deep shadow over his mouth. Grom smirked and did not bother speaking the words that they knew he was thinking. _I am no slave._ "The master believes that everything will go as planned. But I am not convinced until things are resolved."

"Oh? So, the house Horan is under attack?" _The Captain is not convinced, but Uzamon is. So, it must be something to do with the security._

Captain Herza looked surprised. "I can see how you came to that conclusion, with all the guards. But you are correct in a way."

Grom frowned as the guards chained him up again for the walk back to his quarters. "Come to think of it, were we not supposed to meet the Astapori today at the Golden Pit?"

"Well, the Good Master has been worried to put it lightly. He wanted to leave, so we had to delay the fight. However, the Great Masters managed to convince him to stay after the missive from Yunkai came." Grom tell the Captain was going to say more but another guard bowed before informing him that His Worship needed to see him. Captain Herza left with a curt nod of goodbye to Grom before leaving. Grom was delivered back to his chambers without Risana, because she said she was going to get their food today. There was obviously more to that because she had a sly smile when she left.

It was late by the time Risana returned with their food, if the darkness outside the window was anything to go by. Grom made his displeasure known with a growl, "Took your sweet time."

"Oh, hush." She had a grim smile on her face as she set their table. Grom pulled out her stool, which she promptly sat on, indicating for Grom to begin eating. "I was talking to the other slaves. I know what's been going on." Grom raised an eyebrow. When he didn't say anything, Risana explained, "Like you said there are eyes and ears everywhere."

"Okay. Good job. No need to lord it over me." Grom replied ripping the leg off his chicken more roughly than needed.

Risana smile was happier after that. However, it disappeared as soon as she spoke. "Well, the Good Master's brother was killed when the city was sacked."

 _What. Astapor was sacked… Then that means the missive from Yunkai must have been reassurance that they would be able to repel the invaders._ Grom had to know the answer to one question. "Who defeated Astapor?"

"I heard it was some whore who thinks herself above her station."

 _A woman? She must be powerful indeed to command an army strong enough to defeat the Unsullied._ Before he could ask a question, Risana continued, "I doubt it was the Dothraki as the cook said. Lina said that she heard there were dragons."

Grom scoffed. "Dragons don't exist."

"I know, but wouldn't that be wonderful? Maybe we could see them one day instead of just reading about them."

"They're nothing special. Focus on reality:"

"You talk as if you've seen something better dragons." Risana taunted.

"Not better." _Worse. The Burning Legion,_ thought Grom. "Well, my victory in the Golden Pit will go on as planned if the invaders are defeated at Yunkai."

"How do you know about Yunkai?"

"I'm not stupid." Grom grinned. Risana pouted at his non-answer, which Grom replied by patting her head consolingly. "I hope that they lose."

Risana's face scrunched up, perplexed. "Why?"

 _So I can continue with my plan of escape,_ he wanted to say, but he knew he should not bring that up. "Rarely does anything good happen to the losers of an invasion." _That should make her think._

"I thought you would want to fight for real glory."

"Defending the people that enslave me? I think not."

"What if they freed all the slaves."

"Don't get your hopes up. We would still be chained. Although, the Meereenese would probably be enslaved as well, so it would be interesting to see Uzamon scrubbing the floors with the rest of his slaves."

Risana laughed, before looking at the door warily. "I can't believe they let you get away with using His Worship's name. He probably would have had you punished for saying that."

"I don't doubt it."

"That would be funny though." Risana said dreamily. She looked like she was imagining the situation in detail.

Over course of the next few days Risana continued trying to gather new information. However, information became diluted as it was passed down to the slaves and by the time it reached Grom he could not tell if it was believable or not. Especially because the slaves and guards liked to embellish or add their own spin on what they heard. When, Grom was again not allowed to train, he already knew the fate of Yunkai.

 _There will be no fight then._ He was angry. Risana stuck to her books in case she caught the attention of his ire, but she would soothingly rub his arm at night showing that she understood his frustrations. Too many days spent idle and too many nights spent stewing in anger. Just when Grom thought he couldn't wait any longer, he was unceremoniously chained and taken with Risana out of the estate.

"Where are we going," he asked, to stone cold faces. Captain Herza only grimaced and forged onwards through the streets of Meereen. The pathways were crowded. It seemed all the people outside of Meereen had taken refuge within the city walls. It was disorientating, seeing all those colorful clothes and hair, rushing this way and that blending together almost mixing into the colorful bricks that made up the city.

"Move!"

"Out of the way."

The guards forced their way through the crowds with Grom in tow. Anyone too slow was swiftly pushed aside without care. One group of peasants pushed through the streets almost knocking Risana over, causing Grom to growl at them. His growl was loud enough to cut through the cacophony of noises that anxiety and fear brought. The offenders quickly stepped aside after that.

"Here we are." Captain Herza declared. They had arrived at a one of the smaller fighting pits that Grom had fought at earlier in his career. As they passed through the slave holdings Grom could see the other fighting slaves stretch their chains to the limits to get a closer view of them through the iron bars of their cells. Their whispers followed their group all the way the entrance of the fighting pit.

"Look."

"It's Hellscream."

"I'm glad we don't have to fight today. Look at the size of him."

"Of course."

"Hellscream."

 _They all know of my exploits._ Grom's hands were chained to the post struck deep into the center of the dusty pit. Apparently, Hellscream was catchier for the billing the fights so many outside of the Horan house only knew what they thought was his nickname. And they had only heard his famous battle cry once…

"Grom."

He looked up. There was Uzamon with several Great Masters. They all had colorful hair and wore silk and gold. It was hard to tell them apart even if they dressed themselves up in different colors. _These humans all look alike._ Standing off to the side was the Good Master and his aides. He was covered in a sheen sweat that made him glow in the sun. All of those gathered in front of them stood regally, but he could see their fear underneath their smiles.

"Captain Herza has proven himself a valuable asset again and informed me of an excellent idea. The Great Masters and I have agreed to implement his plan." Uzamon looked smug that he could include himself among those gathered. _Pathetic._

Grom felt a nudge from behind. Captain Herza whispered to him, "Answer him, quickly."

"What sort of plan?" Grom asked in his customary Dothraki. He heard the Captain groan. The Great Masters looked insulted and Uzamon's smile appeared strained.

"We have decided move your fight outside of the city walls. We will allow you the glory of representing all of our great cities against these reckless invaders." Uzamon said.

"Why me? Why not give this chance to my opponent?"

The fat Astapori slave master coughed, clearing his throat before stating in a strangely high-pitched voice, "A beast like that does not understand commands. We point and those chosen die."

"What our esteemed Good Master means is that we think you are more deserving." Uzamon interjected casting a frown at the Astapori, who only coughed in response.

"What do I get in return?" Grom growled out. _Get to the point._

His audience looked displeased, especially Uzamon whose smile had turned into a frown. Smack! Grom felt a sharp pain as the flat edge of Captain Herza's sword struck his back.

"Be silent." Captain Herza commanded angrily.

"It seems your slave holds the whips." One of the Great Masters quipped. Uzamon was ground his teeth. Grom knew the master was going to do something rash to save face. _What an idiot._

"Good Master, you do not mind if I borrow your slave?" Uzamon asked glancing at the fat man.

"What for?"

"Leverage." Uzamon replied. "Bring Risana here." Two guards pulled Risana onto the stairs in front of the gathered Masters. "The bloodless man is known for cruelty and knows no mercy. So, let us place her in his cell and see how she fares."

"Go ahead. I will not miss her." _He should let her go. She is nothing to me._ Risana's face was impassive, but Grom thought he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Uzamon's cocky smile falted for a bit. But the Captain spoke from behind Grom, "He is lying."

"What?" Grom shouted.

"Don't deny it." The Captain stated.

Before they could start an argument, Uzamon chuckled, "I believe the Captain. A slave tells nothing but lies. For your insolence you will watch her fear. Know that she will die if you do not fight."

Grom was forced back through the slave quarters and roughly dragged down the stairs into the basement, where he was chained by his ankles to the wall. There was barely any light down here, but Grom could make out a large shape in the cell next to his. Risana was carefull pushed into the cell and instructed to remain near the door to stay out of reach of the monster that lurked within. As soon as they closed the cell door a rustling of chains was heard, and a scarred pale arm reached out almost grasping Risana's arm before she jumped back hugging the cell bars. An angry growl resounded from the darkness.

"We will leave you two here tonight with this beast." Uzamon said from the top of the stairs. Flickering torchlight lit up the hall behind him, casting his shadow far across the basement. The master smiled a dark smile. "No deal this time, slave." With that parting remark, Uzamon turned and left. The guards followed, climbing the stairs and shutting the door with a heavy slam.

Risana's quiet whimpers could be heard from the cell next door with the sounds of deep breathing. _Their fighter is restless. He's a bloodthirsty one._ As Grom's eyes adjusted to the darkness he looked at the slave hoping to make out his appearance.

There was the pale skin that he heard about. Although, it wasn't deathly pale, as it appeared to be tinged with gray, but that could have been the darkness of the basement. And he was large. Not as tall as Grom, but taller than most humans, and definitely thicker than Grom was. His hair was dark making it appear that his head was enveloped in shadows. He was chained similarly to Grom, with his ankles secured against the furthest wall from the cell door. Because the pale slave had tried to grasp Risana, he was on all fours to maximize the distance he could reach. Judging from appearances alone Grom didn't know if he could match the fighter's strength. _I have never seen a human so large. He truly looks like the savage they said he was._

The pale slave seemed to notice Grom's intense scrutiny and sat up into a crouch. He slammed his left arm into the bars separating their cells and yelled. Risana jumped in fright, but Grom made no move. The large pale slave put his other hand onto the bars leaning on them, so he could peer into Grom's cell. _Other hand…_ That's when Grom noticed that the other slave was missing his left hand. _This one reminds me of someone._

Grom's suspicions were confirmed when he heard the low rumble of the other's whisper and dry laughter under his breath. "A brave one eh." The words were quiet, but it was as if the words shot straight into Grom's mind. _Orcish? I know only one with that voice and appearance. But how? I must be sure._

Taking command of his raging emotions, Grom spoke loudly in Orcish shattering the quiet, "Kargath Bladefist?"

The pale slave stilled and Grom heard a gasp of recognition.


End file.
